


Love's not Time's fool

by oldwiseeyes



Category: Black Sails, Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: Confessions of love, F/M, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pining, Reunion Fic, Thomas is just angry, but not in that way, honestly i love thomas and james more than anything, i don't hate silver before i get yelled at, kind of ot3, post-series 4, slightly ooc but for a good reason imo, slightly posessive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-10-29 16:02:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10857348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldwiseeyes/pseuds/oldwiseeyes
Summary: James is living happily some way out from Boston with Thomas. John Silver, realising too late he misses his old captain, makes the journey to find James upon Madi's insistence.Essentially admissions of love all around, issues of jealously and anger at the past, and angsty moments with a brighter end in sight.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As said in the tags, I would understand if people found Thomas a little ooc; it's okay, he's meant to be different a bit because he's angry.
> 
> Any mistakes that are glaringly obvious and annoying may be pointed out and corrected. Let me know what you think :).

John Silver was tired, aching, and sweating by the time he reached the sorting office. After arriving in Boston, he had assumed the easiest way to find James would be to see if the local post office had an address. He had received a letter from Mr. Oglethrope a month or two after James arrived at the camp informing him that James had left with Thomas. Presumably the man had feared for John’s own safety, and subsequent wrath should he have not received warning, and thought it fair to warn him that the man he had imprisoned was now free. 

John had half expected Flint to arrive on the Maroon Island one day, angry and ready to murder him. But no visit came, and no word was sent either. John had rather wished it had been. He spent long afternoons upon the cliff top where James had taught him to fight, watching for sails on the horizon, but in vain. The feeling of apprehension of Flint’s visit transformed into quiet desperation: John always made sure to be at the beach if any ship were to arrive at the island, though this was a rare occasion in itself. Madi had come to find him up there on numerous occasions, and had looked at him with a mixture of resignation and pity: she had always seen more that John than he had himself. 

As the months passed, and turned into one year, and then two, John felt the ache that had started in his heart when he watched Flint walk through the plantation gates grow. He didn’t even fully understand what it was until Madi had exasperatedly greeted him one morning with a packed travelling bundle and two of her men. 

‘Go and find him.’ She said. ‘I will not watch you miss that man for another day.’ John could tell she was hurt. She still had not fully forgiven him for ending her and Flint’s war, and John wasn’t sure if she ever would. But his mournful watching at the cliff top probably did little to appease her. John knew Madi missed Flint too; despite ht initial mistrust, they had developed an understanding, and then a friendship…Silver had taken that away too. 

Feeling slightly humiliated at being sent away like a scolded child, John had travelled to Boston with Madi’s men as incognito as a man with one leg could. When he had arrived in the city the bustle and volume of people had reminded him briefly of Nassau, though lacking in vibrancy. He was reminded of the time he joined the Walrus screw, and felt more homesick in that moment than he had in the entire voyage. 

At the sorting office, Silver pondered who to ask for; he highly doubted Flint have kept the pseudonym, especially given the reputation attached to it, and wasn’t sure whether he would have used Hamilton either. Mind flitting back to Flint’s once mysterious companion, Silver made up his mind and asked to know the address of ‘Mr. Barlow?’ The clerk got out a large ledger and flipped through the pages languidly. 

‘I have the address of one Mr. J Barlow, and a Mr. T Barlow.’ He said unenthusiastically, looking at John over the top of his glasses. Silver suppressed a snort.

‘Where do they live then?’ He asked. “I need to visit them.’ 

‘A good 25 miles from the outskirts of town. There’s a mail cart that goes that way once a week, I’m sure for a small fee Mr. Dunthrop could be convinced to take a passenger this time.’ The man said nodding to another man hauling sacks out of a room in the corner. Silver nodded his thanks and hobbled towards the man. He coughed to get his attention and received a slightly frustrated sigh in return. 

‘You colleague tells me you take a mail cart out of town once a week?’ Silver asks, adjusting his crutch slightly. The man nods. ‘I was wondering, do you think for a small fee you could be persuaded to take me out there?’ The man seemed to consider his options for a moment before he crossed his arms over his chest. 

‘How small is the fee?’ He said shrewdly, eyes narrowing. Silver chuckled. He reached into his pocket and drew out a large gold coin that had been taken from the cache before it had been buried. The man’s eyes went large and he nodded eagerly. 

‘I’ll be heading out that way day after tomorrow.’ He said, nodding to Silver. ‘You come back here when the bell tolls six and I’ll take you with me.’ Silver nodded his thanks and hopped back out into the street. He would’ve simply hired a horse had he known where James lived, but it wasn’t easy to ride, especially without his boot, and the thought of getting lost with limited funds was not appealing.

Silver spoke to Madi’s men, and bade them join him at the inn he had booked into, telling them that if he was not back a week after he left, they were to go back to the Maroon camp. He was sure the situation with James would decide itself within a week.

* * *

John slept fitfully that night, and spent the following day restlessly walking the streets of Boston. He stopped outside a bookshop and peered through the windows at the shelves lined with leather bound novels and poetry books. Stepping inside, John nodded to the woman at the counter, aware of the way her eyes followed him around the room, always focused on his missing leg. He had really only ever seen Flint read novels, and had never particularly stopped to see what he was reading. He found himself in front of several shelves of poetry, eyes reading gilded names and titles. 

‘Shake-speares Sonnets: Never Before Imprinted’

John raised an eyebrow and flicked through a few pages. Would Flint like poetry? John felt ridiculous for a moment, realising he was attempting to find a gift for a man who may very well kill him on sight. Before he could change his mind, John snapped the book shut and took it to the counter where the woman gave him a knowing smile. 

‘A fine gift for anyone’s love.’ She said, wrapping the text in brown paper from underneath the counter. John nodded absentmindedly and wondered if that had been his unconscious intention. He pushed it from him mind. 

After paying for the collection, John returned to his rooms and made sure the meagre belongings he had brought were once again tightly bound into the bedroll Madi had made up for him. He spent the evening in the dinning room of the inn, watching the other patrons come and go and talk and remain quiet. John sat by the fire and thought about Flint. He thought about Madi too: what she was doing, and how the camp was, what she would say upon his return – if he did return – and how she had always known what he was only just beginning to realise. He felt guilt curdle in belly.

Disgruntled and frustrated, John went up to his room and blew out the candles. There was little point in fruitlessly deliberating the outcome of the next day now, or what had already been done.

* * *

The journey was slow. The mail cart was heavy, and the heat oppressive the further inland they got, making the horse pulling the cart plod more and more slowly along the dusty road. Every couple of miles or so, the driver would stop at a small village, or another sorting house, and would unload a bundle of parcels, or a sack of letters. They stopped at midday by a brook to allow the horse to drink, and John sat in the shade with Mr. Dunthrop, feeling sweat cool on his skin. 

It was mid to late afternoon, and they had been travelling along a barren road for what seemed like an age, but was probably only an hour or so, when a house came into view in the distance. It was neither small not particularly large, but sat in front of a dense thicket of woodland that appeared to mark the edge of an approaching forest. The closer they got, the more John was able to make out: in front of the house there were neat plots full of assorted plants, as well as several sections of bushes and what seemed to be a small orchard off to one side. There was also a water pump to the left of the house, and a stable to the other, with a tacking pole in front of it. 

‘You’re going to visit them Barlows then, are you?’ Mr. Dunthrop asked, voice sounding slightly hopeful. Silver nodded and the driver thrust a square parcel at him.

‘What’s this?’ Silver enquired, wondering how he was going to try and make an escape, should he need to, when carrying his own bedroll, the book for James and whatever this now was.

‘Something one of ‘em ordered.’ Mr. Dunthrop said with a scowl. ‘I ain’t going near that house if I have to. Madman who lives there nearly killed me first time I had t’deliver.’ He grumbled. John almost smiled: the idea of Flint attacked the man beside him was unsurprising.

‘I’ll take it in.’ Silver promised, feeling his chest grow tighter as they drew level with the house. The man waited expectantly as Silver clambered down from the seat ungracefully, slinging his bedding roll over his shoulder and tucking his parcels under his right arm. He took and breath and began hopping towards the house, trying not to let himself acknowledge the anxious sweating that increased tenfold when he heard the cart pull away behind him. 

As John made him way onto the properly, he was able to see a figure grouched in the midst of the crops, mostly obscured by several of the fruit bushes. He coughed quietly, and then more loudly after he received no response.

The figure straightened up and looked at him. He was rather elegantly tall, despite the shabby clothes he was wearing, and the knees of his breeches were dirt stained; there were several scratches along his tanned forearms from where the brambles had obviously snagged his skin. His handsome face was screwed up slightly, whether this was against the sun or John himself, John didn’t know. He slowly set down the secateurs in his hand and dusted his hands off, against one another. 

‘Can I help you?’ He inquired, aristocratic voice sounding wary. John swallowed and took a few steps forward. The man glanced back at the house apprehensively. 

‘I’m looked for Mr. Barlow?’ John asked. He had no idea who this man was, and while John wanted to assume it was in fact Thomas, now was not the time to be making assumptions. 

‘I’m Mr. Barlow.’ The man said, crossing his arms across his chest. 

‘Thomas?’ Silver asked hopefully. He had not considered being greeted by Thomas instead of James and now began to think that perhaps this was a preferable outcome. 

‘Yes.’ The man replied warily. ‘Why? How do you know? Are you looking for my cousin?’ John smiled and ducked his head, evidently not quickly enough though, as when he looked back up Thomas’ face had gone from uncertain to cold. 

‘I promise I mean you no harm.’ John said, gripping his crutch awkwardly underneath his arm and holding out his hand. ‘My name is John Silver.’ He offered, with what had once been his winning smile. Thomas’ face changed again in an instant: the cold expression was replaced by something else that John could only describe as seething rage. Thomas retracted the hand he had been about to offer to John and took a step back. 

‘I see.’ He said. ‘James will be back soon.’ And with that he turned to walk towards the house. Silver followed him after a moment, struggling to keep up with the long strides of the former lord. 

Apparently, ‘soon’, was a rough approximation, as when Thomas reached the wooden steps up the deck in front of the house, the sound of a horse’s hooves could just be heard in the distance. Thomas stopped sharply and turned, as did John. 

In the distance, a rider was just visible a way down the long stretch of road. As he drew closer, Thomas began walking towards the edge of the property, and John would have followed if it were not for the glare the former gave him. The rider slowed as he neared the open gateway pulled the cloth that had been wrapped over his nose and mouth to keep out dust down. He trotted the horse through the entrance and abruptly caught sight of John. The man on the horse stilled and pulled the animal to a stop. He sat motionless, still half wrapped in a turban, as Thomas approached.

* * *

‘What the hell is he doing here?’ Thomas asked, grabbing the reins of James’ horse as they made their way over to the post in front of the stable. James frowned and clasped Thomas’ free hand between them discretely. 

‘I don’t know, my love.’ He murmured, eyes finding their way back to the figure that stood motionless by the porch: the missing leg was easily recognizable. Thomas huffed a breath and James brought him inside the stable building, out of sight, where he placed the saddlebags over their rack.

‘Do you want to see him?’ Thomas asked, taking James’ face in his hands. ‘I can’t go and ask him to leave.’ James shut his eyes. 

‘I don’t know what I want.’ He whispered, leaning in to rest his forehead against Thomas’, the soft touch quickly developing into a desperate kiss.

‘What he did to you…’ Thomas began, eyes half angry and half sad. James pressed another kiss to his lips to quiet his words. 

‘Whatever I decide, he must stay the night. It is too late for one of us to ride with him back to town and I would not have him try and survive a night out here alone.’ Thomas frowned; clearly thinking the latter suggestion was not unreasonable. 

‘If he is here to take you away I shan’t let him.’ Thomas whispered, hands clutching at the arms of James’ shirt. James chuckled. 

‘I would never let him.’ He murmured. ‘I promise you that. God himself could not remove me from your side.’ Thomas shut his eyes and placed a final soft kiss on James’ forehead.

* * *

John watched as James and Thomas came out the stable. He watched as James’ removed the turban from his head to reveal the auburn hair he had brutally hacked off had grown back to its original length, and a soft layer of beard covered his jaw. James was studying him with narrowed eyes. John saw that his hand was intertwined with Thomas’; John tried not to let the feeling of jealously swell in his stomach, especially when his eyes met Thomas’ own. 

‘Well,’ James said, stopping in front of John. ‘I suppose you had better come inside.’ He said shortly, voice sounding tired and resigned. His eyes, almost like Thomas’, looked half sad and half angry. At least he wasn’t dead yet, John thought, before following them up the stairs and through the door.

The house was sparsely furnished, but comfortable. There were signs of his old captain everywhere which John began to pick up on almost immediately: the large amount of books on shelves about the room, and the old lone volume lying on the table, the handles of almost concealed weapons John could just about make out, a map of what John presumed was the immediate area lying half curled up on a bench. There were other things too, homely things, that at once seemed both extraordinarily out of place and incredibly well suited to James, that made John feel quite homesick for something he’d never had. The bundle of herbs hanging above the kitchen workspace, for example, or the writing desk in the corner with neat compartments for inkwells and wax and seals. 

‘So.’ John said, placing his bedroll on the floor and the parcels beside it. 

‘So.’ James replied, shifting awkwardly in the middle of the room. Thomas stood next to him, glowering. After another moments silence Thomas turned and walked through the archway into the kitchen. James and John stood in uncomfortable silence as he irritably started a fire in the hearth and then left through the back door with a bucket in hand.

‘It isn’t hit fault he’s angry.’ James said as soon as Thomas had left the room. ‘He doesn’t see what you did as right. He is angry you didn’t tell me sooner.’ James added quickly, words coming out in a rush. 

‘And you?’ John asked, holding his breath. ‘Are you angry with me?’ James looked at him, mouth pressed in a thin line. 

‘I know the only way you could’ve got me to give up the war was through Thomas.’ He said, not really answering John’s question. ‘I understand that.’ He paused and took several breaths before looking up at John with slightly wet eyes. ‘And am I angry? I don’t know. A lot of the rage I held, as Flint, dissipated upon my reunion with Thomas.’ He said. The reverence with which he said his lover’s name made John look away with envy. 

‘I see.’ John said, looking at the smooth floorboards. 

‘You don’t.’ James replied, a hint of softness in his voice. ‘I can still see your rage, your anger at the world. For having given so much and received so little in return. You have not yet found your peace.’ James said. He appeared as if he were about to say more when the backdoor alerted them both to Thomas’ return. James cleared his throat and strode towards John, before picking up his things and taking them upstairs. John belatedly realized that the package he had said he would deliver for Mr. Dunthrop was still among them. 

When James came back downstairs, the three men drank tea at the kitchen table in an uncomfortable silence. John’s eyes flicked between James and Thomas, watching as Thomas kept sending James’ pointed looks.

‘I’ve put your things in the spare bedroom.’ James said unnecessarily. John nodded his thanks and toyed uneasily with the handle of the china teacup Thomas had presented him with. Thomas’ own hands twitched agitatedly on the table, long fingers tapping rhythms against the hard wood surface. Silently, James reached over and clasped a hand around Thomas’ fingers, stilling them. John’s eyes tracked the movement of James’ hand, and watched as his fingers stroked Thomas’ tenderly. 

‘Perhaps this would all be better discussed in the morning?’ Thomas suggested, eyes firmly fixed upon James. James nodded and got up, walking over to a doorway covered by a large, hanging curtain. He came back out with a loaf of bread, some cheese and a handful of apples. Taking a large knife from a block on the sideboard, James cut up the bread into thick slices, then the cheese, before setting out three plates and depositing food upon each on. John could see the sun was starting to set through the back window, and felt him stomach growl slightly. 

‘You’re welcome to eat in here or through in the next room.’ James said, picking up two of the plates and walking out through the back door that Thomas held open for him. John watched the two men settle on the back steps of the veranda before the door swung shut, an odd feeling of loneliness stealing over him. He chose to eat his foot quickly in the kitchen, shoving the apple in his pocket before hobbling upstairs.

* * *

There were three rooms branching off the upstairs landing; John poked his head through the first doorway, judging from the rumpled sheets, this was James’ bedroom. Or rather, James and Thomas’. The next room along was a storage room of some sort, with several trunks along the walls and several old pieces of furniture. John assumed the last room was his, and was relieved to find, upon opening the door, his bedding roll, and both parcels. Hobbling to the window, he considered going down to find James’, to give him the parcel he should’ve delivered for Mr. Dunthrop. 

The window of the bedroom looked out over the back of the property, showing several more fruit trees and a carefully kept vegetable patch. John’s gaze dropped to the bottom of the frame, his eyes coming to rest upon the figures of James and Thomas, sitting side by side still on the steps. The plates from the meal had been set aside, and Thomas’ head rested against James’ shoulder, their hands clasped together on James’ knee. The wood muffled the soft murmur of voices, but John saw James sigh, say something, and press a kiss to Thomas’ forehead. John backed away from the window, feeling as if he were intruding on something he had not privilege to be a part of. 

He settled down on the bed he presumed was kept made up for appearances. He lay in silence as the room darkened, the birds outside hushed, and the sounds from downstairs ceased, crept upstairs, held a whispered conversation, and retreated to bed together. Silver sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slightly smutty entrance, and James and Silver have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly smutty so skip to the next text line/thing if you don't want to read :) also super bad at proof-reading so apologies for any mistakes. Comments always appreciated :).

James awoke the next morning with a start. The bed was empty next to him, and when his hand reached out to brush the sheets, they were cool to touch. James sat up anxiously; tugging a shirt over his head he opened the bedroom door and made his way down the stairs to the larger room and kitchen. Thomas rarely woke before James, and if he did, he was prone to smothering his lover tirelessly in kisses until he was awake too. 

The kitchen and dinning-come-sitting room were both empty, though a crumb-covered plate lay on the kitchen table. James opened the door to the room they had designated as a washroom off one side of the kitchen but found that empty as well. Thomas’ coat was still by the door so he had not decided to go into town. James opened the backdoor and walked over towards the small orchard they had on side of the house. 

The grass was still dewy under his bare feet, and the coldness of the damp made him shiver. He made his way to the centre of the group of assorted trees and smiled fondly at what he saw. Thomas was sat on a blanket, back propped up against their largest apple tree, with a book open on his lap. He looked up at the sound of James’ feet upon the grass and smiled back.

‘Good morning, my love.’ He said, reaching up for James’ hand before tugging him down beside him. 

‘I thought you had abandoned me.’ James mumbled and Thomas snorted before placing a soft kiss upon his cheek. 

‘As you said yourself, it would take more than God to move me from your side.’ He replied, quoting James’ own words back at him. James didn’t reply but linked his fingers with Thomas’ and rested his head against his shoulder. 

After several minutes of silence, and the rustle of Thomas’ page being turned, James looked at his lover, eyes straining slightly against the morning sun. 

‘Why are you up so early?’ He asked. Thomas broke his concentration from his book, plucking a daisy and placing it between the pages before snapping the volume shut. 

‘I couldn’t sleep.’ He said simply, blue eyes studying James’ face. 

‘You should have woken me.’ James murmured.

‘You don’t sleep enough as it is.’ Thomas argued, thumb stroking over James’ knuckles. ‘I would not deny you your rest.’ 

‘I’m sure I wouldn’t mind.’ James said, a teasing not to his voice. He leaned up a placed a kiss upon the underside of Thomas’ jaw, and then another at the top of his neck. Thomas let out an appreciative hum. James twisted onto his knees and moved himself so that he had one on either side of Thomas’ leg. His hands came up to cup Thomas’ face as his brought his lips to meet his lovers. 

“James,’ Thomas murmured, his breath hitching and James redirected his attention to the sensitive skin of Thomas’ neck. ‘There are more comfortable places to do this.’ He managed. James pulled away and smirked as his eyes ran over Thomas’ slightly flushed neck and cheeks. He shuffled backwards and pulled his leg over Thomas’ before standing up.

‘Come then?’ He said, holding out his hand. Thomas grinned and got up, stoping to pick up both the blanket and book before taking James’ hand. 

James reasoned it was early enough that John should still be asleep, given by how tired he had looked the night before, and additionally, James and Thomas’ room was down the other end of the corridor than the one they had offered John. The two men crept into the house quietly, depositing the blanket and book on one of the armchairs before sneaking upstairs together.

Once Thomas had pulled James inside their bedroom and shut the door, he pressed him firmly against the wall beside it and kissed him soundly. James let him eyes flutter closed and his hands came up to Thomas’ waist, gripping hard. It was Thomas now who began to pepper kissed along James’ jaw and down his neck, scraping his teeth lightly over James’ pulse point. James wanted to moan, but conscious of their guest, clasped a hand over his own mouth. Thomas broke away and fixed him with a reproachful look.

‘Must you, my love?’ He whispered. James raised an eyebrow and motioned with his head to the door. 

‘I know the walls are thick but John is only a few rooms away.’ James murmured, hands stroking down Thomas’ arms. Thomas narrowed his eyes but nodded. 

‘Only because you wish it.’ He said, resuming his hot kisses. James ran a hand affectionately through his lover’s hair and pulled his face up to his own. Thomas took this opportunity to slot a thigh between James’ own, pressing firmly against James’ growing hardness. James gave a quiet but chocked moan into Thomas’ mouth. Thomas grinned. 

James pulled Thomas towards their bed, pushing him down and tugging impatiently at his shirt before he resumed kissing him. In the end, Thomas divested himself of both his shift, and trousers, until he was clad in only his underclothes. James sat back on his heels and looked over his lover: golden skin was flushed gently, chest heaving, his eyes were blown wide and his lips were gently parted. James surged forward and captured them in another kiss. 

‘Take all this off.’ Thomas groaned, pushing his hands underneath James’ own shirt, before his fingers fumbled at the ties on his underclothes. 

Once they were both divested of their clothes, it was Thomas who pushed James back against the pillows. He raked his fingers through the soft ginger hair on James’ chest before rolling one nipple, and then the other, between his fingers. James’ breathing was coming out in soft pants and he bucked his hips up in an attempt to gain friction. Thomas chuckled softly, his body held just slightly out of reach. 

‘Patience, darling.’ He whispered, kissing his way down James’ stomach. Thomas kissed the junction of his thighs, and then down the inside of them, lips almost ticklish. James wanted to moan in frustration. 

‘Thomas, please.’ He mumbled, reaching down to touch himself, but Thomas batted his hand away. 

‘James!’ He admonished affectionately, before finally giving in and placing a wet kiss on the tip of James’ aching cock. He took the top between his lips and swirled his tongue around the end. James wanted to buck up into the hot heat of Thomas’ mouth, but his lover had placed his hands on James’ hips holding him in place. 

James pressed his hand to his mouth once more as a moan threatened to escape him loudly. He bit the meat of his thumb and looked down at Thomas, to find a pair of blue eyes smirking up at him. Suddenly, James knew what Thomas was doing. 

‘You’re doing this on purpose.’ James panted, before a curse escaped his lips as one of Thomas’ hands reached beneath his cock to massage his balls. James resolutely smothered his mouth once more: he was not going to be loud. Thomas only hummed quietly and ran his tongue along the underside of James’ cock, before taking him down deeper. 

Thomas swallowed around James’ cock, and James wanted to groan, but he firmly kept his hand pressed over his mouth, breathing hard through his nose. Thomas pulled off him with a wet pop, putting his own fingers in his mouth. With his other hand his pushed James’ legs up until they were bent, and then hooked his elbow under one knee, bringing it up further. Taking his now wet fingers from his mouth, Thomas slid them over James’ hole before slowly pressing one inside. 

‘Fuck.’ James cursed, chest heaving. Thomas continues to fuck one long finger into him as he licked a bead of white fluid from the tip of James’ cock. Without warning, Thomas added a second finger, causing James’ to grunt somewhat more loudly than he would’ve liked. Thomas lent forward and took one of James’ nipples in his mouth, hot tongue flicking over the hardened nub. 

‘Christ, Thomas.’ James said, voice sounding slightly strangled, before a moan escaped his as Thomas’ fingers grazed the nerves inside him. Thomas looked up at James delightedly, and James tried his best to glare back, but the now constant pressure of Thomas’ fingers robbed him of his ability to form proper sentences, let alone calculated expressions. 

Thomas returned his attention to James’ cock, maintaining the two fingers inside him, and began to suck on him in earnest. James, now too far gone to try and muffle his noises, groaned wantonly, hips bucking up. He could feel the pressure mounting in his balls and tried to pull at Thomas’ hair to move him off his cock. Seeming to sense his message, Thomas just nodded and swallowed him down further. James threw his head back against the pillows as his back arched, and he spilled his release down Thomas’ throat. His climax was accompanied by a punched out breath and a low moan. 

‘You are wicked.’ James breathed, after pulling Thomas off his over-sensitive member. Thomas only grinned and captured his lips in a kiss. James could feel Thomas’ own hardness pressing against his thigh and he quickly reached a hand down, smirking as he felt the tip coated. 

‘Ah, James.’ Thomas moaned, not even attempting to muffle his own noises as James’ stroked his cock roughly. James increased his pace, sinking his teeth into the soft part of Thomas’ shoulder and relishing the whine it caused.

Thomas bucked into his hand and let his breath come out in pants. Trickles of sweat ran down his forehead and he lean forward into James’ shoulder. 

Damn you, James!’ He muttered, as James swiped a thumb over his slit. James only laughed and continued to work his hand until he could feel Thomas’ muscles begin to tense up, and he abruptly pulled off. Thomas groaned and then yelped and he was tipped onto his back.

‘Considering your behavior,’ James muttered, eyes dark and hooded as he dug his fingers into Thomas’ thighs. ‘I have half a mind to leave you like this…hot and aching.’ Thomas’ eyes widened and grasped at James’ hands. 

‘No, no, no!’ He whined holding James’ hands in place and bucking up into them. James gave him a mischievous grin began to stroke his shaft again. 

He would build up Thomas until he was almost on the edge of his pleasure, and then he would abruptly remove his hands, and leave Thomas frustrated and aching. James continued his game for a short time before Thomas looked up at his pleadingly. 

‘I’m sorry!’ He gasped, as James began to suckle on one of his nipples. ‘I-I…’ He was about to promise not to be so demanding next time when his orgasm overcame him with such a force that he arched his back off of the sweat soaked sheets. 

‘Jesus Christ, James!’ He said, after his mind had cleared on the white haze. James looked up from where he had been licking some of the mess of Thomas’ stomach and smiled innocently. 

‘Is something the matter, my Lord?’ He said, placing a thumb in his mouth and making a show of sucking the fluid off it. Thomas groaned and threw his head back on the pillow, oversensitive. 

‘I don’t understand why you’re so bothered.’ Thomas huffed when James lay down beside him. ‘I am sure your guest is still asleep.’

(

* * *

)

 

John Silver was in fact not still asleep. He had been woken by the shutting of a door down the hallway and had endured almost half an hour of muffled noises from the other bedroom. He was currently still lying hard, and frustrated, in bed. When he heard two sets of feet move downstairs and begin to quietly bang things around in the kitchen, John snuck a hand down under the covers. 

He had been able to decipher which moans were James; the one that were barely restrained but still under a semblance of control. John gave a quiet groan thinking about it, but immediately heard feet returning back up the stairs, so snatched his hand away.

A gentle knock sounded on the door followed by a pause in which John was unsure whether he should answer to pretend to be asleep. When the knock came again he gave an inelegant cough to clear his throat and answered.

‘Yes?’ He said. The door opened revealing James clad in one of his long white shirts and white underclothes. John’s heart gave an ache. 

‘Thomas is making breakfast.’ James said, looking uncomfortable. ‘If you’d like some.’ He added, before shutting the door again. John sighed and swung his leg out of bed, reaching down to the floor for his crutch before hopping over to his clothes. He struggled into his trousers and tucked in his shirt, deciding to forgo his jacket and boots. 

His decent of the stairs was neither fast not discrete, and John felt as though he had an audience as James and Thomas tried not to be obviously distracted from their own meal. The two men were sat the table in the dining room, James at the head of the table, and Thomas close in on one side. The scene in itself was so blissfully domestic that John felt the now familiar pang of jealously return. Thomas spread butter on his bread before passing the dish and butter knife to James, their hands touched briefly. James looked up at the sound of John descending the stairs, their eyes meeting; the gentle smile that had been on his face goes and a small furrow forms between his brows. 

Of all the trials and tortures John silver has faced, the look of James with a disappointed and slightly sad look upon his face is almost unbearable. He looked down quickly and finished walking down the stairs. Hobbling to the table he sat down on a chair opposite Thomas and reached for a slice of bread from the board in the middle. A dish of scrambled eggs lay to one side, with a plat containing two sausages next to it. 

(

* * *

)

 

The three men ate in silence, John looking at the table to avoid meeting the glare he knew Thomas had on his face. After some time, Thomas got up, pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing at the corners of his mouth: old habits, John supposed. He sent James a meaningful look before collecting all three plates and retreating to the kitchen. James got up and motioned for John to do the same. He pulled on a light brown coat from a peg near the door, shoving his feet into soft brown boots. He looked at John’s bare feet before quickly ascending the stairs to retrieve the other mans boot. John flushed slightly but pressed his lips together. 

When James returned with his coat and boot, he was also carrying the package address to him. He nodded at it and put it on the dining room table while John put on his own jacket and boot, and then nodded again, in the direction of the front door. 

(

* * *

)

 

The two men set out along a path that led into the less dense woodland, at the start of the forest. It only made John feel slightly nervous. They walked for some time before they came to a clearing with a disused fire pit in the centre. James stood by it and squinted in the direction they had come. 

‘This was where we first saw it.’ He said quietly. John obediently moved to his side and followed his line of sight down the tree-lined pathway they had just walked up. At the end of the green tunnel, the land around James’ house, and the house itself, seemed to glow from the brighter sunlight that shone on it. John understood why James had settled there. 

‘I said I didn’t know if I was angry.’ James said, holding up his hand when John looked as though he were about to speak. ‘I am, but only on one part of the whole endeavour.’ John held his breath. ‘I am angry you did not tell me sooner. That you waited until it suited you to use Thomas to control me. That you left him there for longer than was necessary.’

‘If I thought-‘ John began, but Flint shook his head firmly. 

‘I am not angry you tried to kill me.’ He said. ‘Thomas is, and I understand why he is.’ John nodded, feeling his stomach curl. ‘But I cannot find the energy to be angry when I want for nothing more now.’ James said. The words, though said without malice, felt like cold water down John’s spine. Nothing more.

‘You are truly content?’ John asked. James turned to him and looked at his with a scrutinizing gaze. 

‘When I lost Thomas I believed I had lost my only chance at happiness.’ James said, eyes not leaving John’s. ‘I believed I had lost the only person who could truly understand me, my motives, my thoughts. I had Miranda of course, and I loved her eternally – I still do.’ He said, voice sounding slightly hoarse. ‘But in my reunion with Thomas, the pain I had felt for ten years began to heal in a way it had never done. The anger his loss had provoked was dampened, and the hope for the life I had long given up dreaming upon was reborn.’ John swallowed and nodded, looking away. 

‘I cannot ever forgive the Peter Ashe, I cannot ever forgive Alfred Hamilton, I cannot ever forgive England for what they have taken from me…time, lives…’ James continued. ‘But with a second chance I never believed I would have, I can, and have chosen, to spend my days pursuing something other than revenge. I do not agree with what you did, but I understand why you did it. I did not want to war to end that way, but I see why it did. I will never return to Nassau because I do not wish it. My life is here, with Thomas, and I will stop at nothing to ensure that it not altered.’ James said finally, before looking at John with challenge in his eyes. 

‘You believe I am here to take you back?’ John spluttered, trying to hide the isolation he felt from the man he once knew. James smiled sadly and shook his head. 

‘I invented Flint out of necessity.’ He said. ‘He was born from the man I used to be and became the man I was. Though I separate the two I cannot deny that James McGraw and James Flint are as much a part of each other as John Silver the cook, and Long John Silver the pirate king are…but you will not find Captain Flint at my door.’ He said, tone darker and serious. ‘If it is him you seek you should return to Nassau, listen to the old drunkards in the tavern.’ John felt his breath catch.

James was not the same James who had been wrenched from his home and the man he loved ten years ago. James was not the Captain he had come to love and follow. James was not the partner and friend he had sought counsel from. This James was a combination of all of the previous men he had been and simultaneously none of them either. And John realized, with painful clarity, that the man before him now was known to one man, and one man alone, and that man was not him. 

John felt his throat clench and his eyes begin to burn. He had not wept since he had believed Madi dead, and now he was about to cry over his own realization that the man he had come to know before no longer stood before him; not because he had ceased to exist, but because he had changed and reverted and progressed and transformed into someone John almost knew completely but was just out of his reach. He would never share the bond James had with Thomas: the dual suffering of a painful decade at war, the joy of a reunion deemed impossible, and the love that had endured it all. 

For had John always loved James? Had he not sent a group of his best men to cut the man before him down? Had he not cast him in irons and, he had thought, condemned him to a life of unpaid labor? From the little he knew, John could not imagine Thomas Hamilton doing the same. He could not imagine James doing the same. The latter thought made his stomach turn again and he bent forward over his knees breathing heavily. 

John turned his face away as it contorted itself in pain. He finally saw what Madi had seen from very early on. As if reading his mind, James spoke. 

‘How is Madi?’ He asked, politely not commenting on John’s current state.

‘Resigned.’ John said after a pause, earning his a puzzled look from James. ‘She is more perceptive than I am.’ John said, leaving the obvious unspoken. James looked sad for a moment, brows drawing together and his eyes dropping to the floor. 

‘I did not wish for this outcome.’ He said. ‘I’m sorry.’ John gave a huffed laugh.

‘You’re sorry?’ He asked indignantly. ‘What for? You did not force my hand in this.’ James regarded him for a moment and looked as though he was about to speak. Then quietly he placed a hand over John’s, where it rested on his knee.

‘It was your decision.’ He said softly. John held his breath. ‘We are at our least rational when we’re at our most vulnerable. That’s what you said to me, before the Spanish came.’ James said. John held his breath still. ‘I cannot fault you for your vulnerability despite the outcome.’

‘I also said It is some kind of hell to be forced to choose one irreplaceable thing over another.’ John replied. He turned to James, almost desperately. ‘Do you see it was hell?’ He whispered, eyes searching the other man’s face for understanding. James met his gaze and nodded once, then again. 

‘Yes.’ He whispered. John was about to say something else, when James abruptly got up and began to walk further into the wood. Silver stared after him for a moment before following awkwardly. 

(

* * *

)

James walked for some time, inconspicuously altering his pace when he heard John lagging behind. Despite the shaded woodland, John felt himself starting to sweat and his grip on the crutch grew wet. He scowled at the back of the man in front of him. Just when he believed he and James were on the same page, the man closed himself off again.

The two men came to another clearing, mostly taken up by a large pool, with leaves and detritus cluttering the edges. The water was green, full of plants and impossible to tell the depth of. John stood at the edge warily. James said nothing, but stared at the green water pensively. 

‘Thomas likes to come here.’ He said suddenly. Silver’s scowl deepened. ‘He likes to sit on that far edge over there and let his feet hand into the water. He says it reminds him he is no longer on the plantation.’ 

Silver was about to ask what the purpose of James’ scenic woodland tour was, when the man once again began walking, this time down a narrower path that John believed to be back in the direction of the house.

John felt his shirt begin to grown damp with his perspiration and glared at James’ back more fiercely. James’ pace was manageable, but too fast for John to keep stride next to him, or ask him where he was leading him and why. He followed his old captain in stony silence. 

They next came to a peculiar half circle of trees, arranged almost like an amphitheatre. James stood facing the wooded crowd and waited for John to join him at his side. He looked over the trees for a minute before turning to John.

‘Thomas likes to come here to think, sometimes.’ James said, walking from one side of the grassy stage to the other. John merely watched him. 

James opened his mouth again to speak when John finally cut in. Frustrated. 

‘What is the purpose of this?’ He asked, angrily. ‘I will not believe it is merely to show me all the places Thomas like near your house.’ He said, hating the jealously that crept into his tone. If James noticed it, he made no comment and merely bowed his head in thought before lifting his face to John’s once more.

‘I do not come to these places with Thomas.’ He said quietly. ‘But I know he come here, and I know he goes to the pond, and I know he returns to the first clearing we visited. I know these things and more.’

‘What’s your fucking point?’ John spat. James looked at him, the sad expression John could not abide back on his face. 

‘I do not know where you go to think.’ He said simply. ‘I don’t know where you like to sit, to remind yourself the war you hated is over. I don’t know what you look to when you feel homesick. The more I come to know Thomas again, the more I realise I never knew of you.’ James said. 

At first John said nothing. He stood seething; teeth clenched at he glowered at James with furious eyes. James waited for a moment, and then another before shaking his head and walking past John, to the path back towards the house. 

‘That fucking cliff.’ John called after him, before he could stop himself. John did not turn but heard the soft footsteps stop. ‘That’s where I go to think. That’s where I go to remind myself the war is over. That’s where I go to when I’m feeling homesick. I go to the fucking cliff and stare at the horizon, looking for bloody Nassau and beyond it.’ John said, practically shouting. 

James did not reply, but John heard his breathing quicken. He waited for John to turn and begin walking down the path after him, his steps slower so the two could walk side by side.


End file.
